


The Yucatan Job - Interludes

by acs



Series: The Yucatan Job [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alien Conspiracy, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 05:29:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acs/pseuds/acs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brief moments with assorted characters between The Yucatan Job Books I (First Move) & II  (Second Stage)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Interlude I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Lima

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Interlude Notes:** Just a few minutes with some people in Lima, Ohio. Proof that people moved on but hadn't forgotten Rachel, Quinn, Brittany, and Santana.  
>  **Word Count:** 1,805

* * *

"Kurt! You have to see this!" Mercedes said, barging into his room, where he was practicing his faces for his Sweeney Todd audition. Ignoring his glare, she held up her tablet in front of his face.

"What am I looking at?" he asked, before moving it out of his face.

"Aliens," she said. "Ellen and Portia were invited down to Cancun."

"That's nice," he said waving her away dismissively. He didn't have time to look at a couple of dried up old lesbians when he was prepping for an audition he was sure was his. Just the thought of seeing them on the beach dressed inappropriately for their age caused him to reflexively shudder.

"They interviewed some of those aliens," Mercedes said.

"And?" Kurt muttered.

"Who does that look like?" she asked, handing the tablet to him.

Kurt squinted at the screen. And blinked. And blinked again. "It can't be her," he said firmly. "She's dead."

"You still think those three killed her, stuffed her body down a well, and ran away?" Mercedes asked.

"It's the only reasonable explanation for all four of them disappearing at the same time," Kurt said. "She annoyed them so much that one of them snapped, probably Quinn. She was obsessed with Berry."

"No, I think Jacob was right and they were all abducted by aliens," Mercedes said.

"And what? The aliens brought Rachel Berry back because?"

"She annoyed them?" Mercedes suggested.

"Does it matter?" Kurt asked. "High school is over. She can't steal any more solos."

"What if they turned her into a super diva with their alien science?" Mercedes asked. "She'll take all the good parts!"

"Or," Kurt said facetiously, "maybe the aliens are Broadway fans, and they are going to build her a theater of her own."

"That's a good one!" Mercedes said. "I need to call the others. We need to save Broadway from the Berry aliens!" Nodding to herself, she pulled out her phone and walked away, the words she was mumbling too low for him to understand.

"Why do I even try," Kurt said, rubbing his forehead. He'd tried very hard to forget about the missing diva and three cheerleaders. Before her disappearance, he'd reached a cease fire, of sorts, with Rachel. He suspected they could have become real friends eventually. From everything he'd learned about her after their disappearance, they'd had a lot in common, though now he would never know.

The Cheerios, Quinn, Santana, and Brittany, had proven to be formidable members of Glee in their own right. As evil as they could be in the hallways of McKinley, they'd been the epitome of team players when it was just Glee, which had helped to bring everyone closer together.

As scary as they could be, Quinn and her lieutenants, by their very presence, had made Glee a safe space where the other Gleeks could be themselves without fear. And Santana and Brittany had been proof that love could make someone, even prickly Santana, a better person.

Losing all four of them at once had been devastating, no matter what he'd said to Mercedes over the years. Glee hadn't really survived their disappearance. Sure, they'd dominated Sectionals for the rest of their high school careers, and the current crop of New Directions continued that tradition, but the spark that had started to propel them beyond that had disappeared with a certain short diva.

He could understand why Mercedes didn't see things that way. She'd sung all of the solos in the Berry-less Glee, which brought her to the attention of several local record producers, which had then led to her current employment as a backup singer. She wasn't famous yet, and had yet to cut her own record, but it was paying the bills for both of them. While he struggled to get his foot in the door and become more than a glorified singing barista, she was keeping a roof over their heads.

Sighing, he tapped the interview on the tablet and turned up the volume. He'd never really forgiven Ellen for the fiasco that her special about the disappearance of Santana and Brittany had become. He still thought the idea of highlighting the lives of the missing Cheerios as an example of the ordinariness of LGBTQ youth had been inspired, but the response had shown how little America really cared about two missing teenage lesbians, and the resulting late night talk show backlash had set back a decade worth of progress for teens struggling to be themselves, in his opinion.

* * *

"You're leaving?" Will Schuester asked, poking his head into Sue's office. He'd heard the rumors, of course. They cropped up every year, after all. But usually they were just wishful thinking, started by someone who'd crossed chalk with Sue in previous years. But bare shelves, stacked boxes, and missing trophies? This was actual proof.

Sue gave him one of her practiced scornful looks, very similar to the one she'd given him when he'd declared that the choir practice room was being named after Rachel Berry. Admittedly, his timing hadn't been great, blurting it out at the faculty meeting when the scholarships in honor of her three missing Cheerios had been announced, but she'd treated him like gum scraped off the bottom of a track shoe ever since. Before then, he'd liked to think that her disdain for him and Glee was part of her usual playful craziness but afterward she'd begun ignoring him instead.

"William," she said, "you appear to be sticking your greasy hair where it doesn't belong. Again."

"What is it this time?" he asked. "And when will you be back?"

"I've received a better offer," Sue said. "One with people who can make better use of my talents. Where that greasy mop on your head isn't welcome. I won't be back."

"Oh, umm..."

"Spit it out, I don't have all day," Sue said.

"What about the Cheerios?" he asked, internally rubbing his hands together in glee at the thought of grabbing some of her budget for himself.

"Disbanded," she said, "obviously. I own the rights to all things Cheerio. The new coach will have to find a new name and her own funding."

"You can't own the name of a school team," Will protested.

"Au contraire, greasy hair monkey boy," Sue said. "I brought it with me and am taking it with me."

Will decided to take it up with Figgins later. Arguing with Sue never ended well. There was no way she could get away with that, he decided. And he'd need to check out the replacement coach, get her on his side.

"Where?" he asked, trying for again for an answer. "Where are you going?"

"South, where the Sylvester method is in demand," she said, waving vaguely. "Now go," she said, pointing at the door, "you're blocking the way."

Hearing giggles, Will turned in the door, facing out into the hallway. Standing in the hall were three tall young women, dressed in what looked like uniforms. He couldn't quite place it but he was sure he recognized them from somewhere. Stepping out of the doorway, he watched them walk into Sue's office, their movements strangely fluid, speaking to each other in a language he didn't recognize.

* * *

"What can I get you," Puck asked, turning around after hearing the unmistakable sounds of Finn Hudson flopping onto a bar stool.

"Got any of that Guinness stuff?" Finn asked.

"In bottles," Puck said. "Need a glass?" he asked, pulling a bottle out of the under-bar cooler. Popping the cap, he put it in front of his old Glee-mate.

"Nah," Finn said. "Do you ever wonder what happened to them?"

Puck didn't have to guess who he meant. The only time Finn didn't drink domestic, usually something light, was when he was feeling nostalgic.

"They'll turn up," Puck said, not ready to take a jaunt down memory lane with Finn so early in the evening. "Berry can't stay hidden for long. She likes the attention too damn much," he added, though he didn't believe it himself. "She's just waiting for the right moment."

"Yeah," Finn mumbled. "Jacob Ben Israel claims they were all kidnapped by aliens."

"Well, he's full of shit," Puck said.

"What about what's happening in Mexico?" Finn asked. "One of the guys at the station says a bunch of aliens landed on the beach down there and took it over."

"That's just that Mayan apocalypse shit Evens is always talking about," Puck said. "Some Cleveland drug gang grabbed them and sold them to some Arab oil Sheik for his harem. Any day now he'll get tired of Berry's mouth and let her go. Berry won't leave any Gleek behind so she'll rescue the others before coming back to Lima."

"Think they'll escape on camels?" Finn asked, excitedly.

Puck just shook his head. Finn could be so gullible. How he'd passed the firefighter test, to say nothing of the required college classes, was a mystery to all of his high school friends. Besides, everyone knew that Lopez had probably mouthed off to some serial killer at the mall who'd followed them home, and buried them all under the football field after putting them through something out of one of those old Saw movies.

Sometimes, he felt guilty for not giving Berry a ride home himself, like he'd promised. She could be loud but she didn't deserve whatever had happened to those bitchy Cheerios.

"Puck! Turn that up!" Finn said, pointing at the large TV across the bar. "They're interviewing some of those aliens."

* * *

"I knew I was right," Jacob Ben Israel muttered to himself, watching a recording of the UN Security Council meeting with the so called aliens that had been released the day before.

"Jacob!" His mother shouted down into the basement. "You need to eat before your shift."

"Yes, mother," he shouted back, initiating another backup of everything to the secret internet cloud site he used. Hopefully, it would be finished before he had to leave for his shift at the Doublemeat Palace.

He suspected the aliens had been the ones to erase all of his videos and photos of Berry. Even he knew that hard drives didn't just randomly erase themselves. Or his entire website. He'd managed to rebuild it from backups but all of his pictures of Rachel Berry and the Cheerios had been gone, permanently.

One of these days he was going to get out of Lima and be famous, he just knew it. And this was his golden ticket, he thought, taking one last glance at the video. Whatever Rachel Berry was into, he was sure she would pay, probably a lot, to keep people from finding out she wasn't really an alien. If not, he could certainly find someone who would find this info interesting.

* * *

**End Notes:**

Why yes, I did borrow the **Doublemeat Palace** from Buffy Season 6 (the episode of the same name in fact) but that doesn't make this a crossover. It's possible that Doublemeat Palace is a cross-dimensional fast food empire.

Not sure how many of these 'filler' chapters I'll do but at least one more before I write/post the next part of this story (Late December, after NaNoWriMo 2013).


	2. Interlude II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Oval Office

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Quick Note:** It's taking longer than I thought it would to turn my 50K words of NaNoWriMo 2013 scribblings into approx. 10 coherent chapters I can post (Sorry). But it will definitely happen, over the next few months. Until then, here's a teaser (with possible bonus typos).
> 
> The following Interlude takes place before and after Rachel and Brittany's meeting with the President of the US (back in the Book I Epilogue.). Which means it actually takes place before the previous Interlude (aka Chapter 19). Book II will pick up with Rachel and Brittany in NYC after the Book I Epilogue.

* * *

_A week before Rachel and Brittany meet with the President._

* * *

"What can you tell me," the President asked his staff. "What do we know about these alien women? Where do they come from? What are their plans?"

"Mister President, we really don't know much about their plans," his science advisor admitted, waving at the large screen cycling through photographs of the four alien women.

"Why not? We've got the best analysts the NSA can hire and more computers than China. If Brad Pitt writes a letter to his mother, we have a copy before she sees it. Surely somewhere in there is useful information."

"We've had to cut back on data gathering, Mister President," his National Security Adviser said. "You won the last election because the NSA screwed up and took down the previous administration with it."

"The NSA still has talented people," his Chief of Staff said, "but this isn't the movies. They can't hack into some alien computer network with a laptop. They need more time, and resources."

"I get it, Jack, but there must be something you can tell me," he said. "We're meeting with them next week, and I want some leverage."

"Mister President?" One of his security detail said, from the door.

He looked over at her. He'd almost forgotten they were there. Ever since the aliens had taken the Yucatan the Secret Service had insisted that, since they didn't know the capabilities of the aliens, even his private meetings needed additional security.

"Yes, Agent Harris?" the President said.

"I was working with the Bureau before the last election, in Ohio," she said. "There was a missing persons case that was brought to our attention. Four teenaged girls disappeared into thin air."

"And?"

"A car was found in an abandoned warehouse," she said. "They originally thought it belonged to these girls."

"Was it?" he asked, wondering if he needed a less talkative agent to replace this one.

"No, Sir," she said. "But one of alien women looks very familiar. Like an older version of one of the missing girls."

"You think they aren't really aliens?" the Science advisor asked.

"I can't answer that, sir," she said. "But the resemblance is striking."

"I want to know everything you can find out about these missing girls," the President said to his personal aide. "Before tomorrow."

"Yes, sir, Mister President," his aide said.

* * *

"Well?" the President said. He'd managed to have a quiet dinner with his wife and the twins and was now ready to get back to business.

His aide waved the remote for the screen and started his presentation. The first image was of the four. Three dressed as cheerleaders and the other dressed like a schoolgirl.

"Four young women, three cheerleaders and a music geek," he said. "They don't appear to be friends, though some sources claim the Latina, Santana Lopez, and the tall blonde, Brittany Pierce, were closer than friends should be. The other blonde, Quinn Fabray, was the head cheerleader. They call them Cheerios."

"Cheerios?" the President asked, puzzled.

"The school had a very competitive cheerleading team, run by one Sue Sylvester," the aide said, stopping at a picture of an older woman dressed in an exercise suit, holding a microphone and apparently yelling at a group of cheerleaders.

"So that's where she ended up," Admiral Luige said.

"You know her, Admiral?" the President asked. The Admiral was a recent addition to the Joint Chiefs.

"Sue Sylvester," the Admiral said. "The first woman to complete Seal training. She was an instructor for a decade and then we lost her to the CIA. She supposedly retired years ago."

"There are no female Seals," the National Security Advisor said.

"Not officially," the admiral said. "We get several female candidates a year. Can't send them out into the field. Congress would have a fit. The ones who make it become instructors or transfer to places where their talents are needed. Sylvester was the first. Tough bird."

"Her Cheerios were National Champions seven out of the last eight years. Four of them consecutively," the aide said.

"Not surprised," the Admiral said. "What happened the year they weren't?"

"That was the year these four disappeared," the aide said, flipping to a magazine cover of Sylvester and the three missing cheerleaders.

"What about the fourth?" the President asked. "What, exactly, is a music geek?"

"She was captain of the school Glee club," the aide said. "She let everyone know she was going to be on Broadway. She was very vocal about her future plans."

"Not modest," the President said. "Must not have been very popular with her peers."

"No, sir. There was some sort of conflict between her and the other girls."

"What was the connection between them?"

"The other three were also in the Glee club. They disappeared returning from some singing event at a local mall, right before Christmas."

"Ah. Do we have them singing?" the President asked, curious.

"Of course, sir," the aide said, hitting a control on the remote. The sound of a female voice singing something the President recognized from a trip to New York, though he wouldn't be able to name it, filled the room. They listened until the voice died away.

"I'm no expert," the President admitted, "but whomever that voice belonged to deserved to brag even just a little."

"Rachel Barbra Berry," the aide said. "Knowledgable people give her the credit for her Glee Club's success."

"What else do we know?"

"Local law enforcement didn't seem to be in any hurry to find them," the aide said. "That is why Agent Harris most likely learned about them. Some of the families convinced the Governor to call in the FBI."

"And didn't find them," the President surmised. "Where are their families now?"

"The Fabray's are in Israel. Some kind of church exchange," the aide said. The President grimaced but motioned for him to continue. "The Lopez's are originally from the Yucatan peninsula. They moved back last spring. The Pierces disappeared several years ago. No one has been able to locate them."

"And the Berry's?" the President asked. The image on the screen switched to two men, one tall, the other a foot shorter.

"They won a contest. All expenses paid. A month in Cancun," the aide said.

"Didn't see that coming," the President said sarcastically. "Anyone else we need to know about in this little migration from Ohio?"

"Rachel Berry's biological mother, and the eldest Fabray daughter also won trips to Cancun for the same time period."

"Looks like someone had this whole thing planned," the President said. "How positive are we that the four missing girls are our aliens?"

"There's no physical proof, but we're reasonably confident," the aide said. "They look a little older but not much." An image of the four girls, standing next to their older equivalents, appeared on the screen. "From the information from Schultz, they've possibly been brainwashed into believing that they're on some rescue mission, or some alien government really has picked four teens for some unknown task."

"And their claim that only someone with Mayan ancestry can use their alien equipment?"

"No proof yet," his aide said. "None of our other people have been able to get past their shields."

"We can't assume they are loyal to this country," General Pontife said. "They were teens when they were kidnapped. And we don't know what the aliens might have done with them."

"Let's assume, for now, they aren't lying," the President said. "What's our next step?"

"We need to know their capabilities," Admiral Luige said. "Can we defend ourselves against them? They don't appear to be interested in conquering the rest of Mexico but what if they change their minds? Who's side are they on? Ours? The aliens?"

"Can we use Schultz?" the President asked. "Do we have any other local assets?"

"Schultz? No," the National Security Advisor said. "They need to be able to trust her and we need her continued reports."

"Sylvester," the Admiral suggested. "She trained three of them. She should know if they've been compromised. And they'll trust her."

"Good," the President said. "Contact her. What else?"

"This," his science advisor said, taking the screen's remote from the President's aide. "It was reported this morning." A large, mechanical something appeared on the screen, with the moon shining brightly behind it.

"So, the aliens have a real spaceship," General Pontife said. "They had to get here somehow."

"It's proof they aren't just some mad scientist's minions," the science advisor said.

"When was the last time we had a mad scientist who could pull something like this off?" the President asked, curious.

"It's been a few years," the advisor admitted. "Nineteen sixty? Some crazy Canadian threatened to turn Lake Michigan to jello."

"What happened to him?"

"He disappeared before we could capture him," the advisor said. "He left behind several hundred tons of chemically unstable purple jello."

"Someone keep an eye on this spaceship," the President said.

"Yes, sir," General Wigg, the Air Force Chief of Staff, who'd been keeping quite, said. "How are the the Chinese reacting to the invasion?" the President asked. "They have that refinery nearby."

"The aliens seem to have missed all of the oil refineries, ships, and anything else that would cause problems for us or the Chinese."

"So, they are aware of local politics?" the President asked.

"As far as we can tell," his aide said. "They haven't approached any other governments that we're aware of, but they haven't done anything obvious to cause problems for themselves."

"Even if they were brainwashed into thinking they are aliens," General Pontife said, "they seem to have done a lot of careful planning to offend as few states as possible."

"Good intelligence gathering?" the President asked the National Science Advisor.

"If they are doing anything we haven't detected it," he said. "But based on their behavior, we could use some of what they've got."

"Would we understand it?" the science advisor asked. "Their leaders may have started out as those missing girls but all evidence points to a strong intelligence behind them."

"You think they're just puppets?" the President asked.

"Maybe?" the science advisor said. "We know they are clever, but are they really that clever?"

"We'll see," the President said.

* * *

_After the meeting with Rachel and Brittany_

* * *

"Your reaction?" the President asked his old friend after their alien guests had gone. She'd earned her current post, but he missed her ability to cut through the noise and give him advice he could actually use.

"Berry may be their front but I wouldn't underestimate the blonde, Pierce," she said. "I suspect the other two are just as dangerous, if not more so."

"I agree," the President said. "Now we just have to survive their encounter with the Security Council."

"And the public."

"Yes, dammit, the public," the President said. "But, you agree that we won't be the ones to reveal their origins to the public?"

"It will happen eventually," she said. "Someone will recognize them."

"And our response to the press?" the President asked his old friend.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "Wherever they are from, they now represent a powerful ally."

"An ally against something we don't know anything about yet," he grumbled. "Are we putting too much trust in them? In their past?"

"Possibly," she said. "But sometimes you have to risk it."

"And sometimes you just want to hide under the bed," the President said sourly.

"Yes," she said, laughing. "But even access to a small part of this technology will put us in a better strategic position."

"You would have been great in Truman's administration," he said. "They had to deal with all those Nazi scientists with blood on their hands."

"No," she said. "My tolerance for such things is very low. I would have thrown them into a dark hole somewhere, future of America be damned."

"If you say so," the President said. "Fancy a drink? The twins have been asking for you."

"Gladly," she said. "Don't want to disappoint my goddaughters."

"Gladys would like to see you also," he said, opening the door to his office and waving his security detail through before exiting himself.

"The First Lady knows where my office is," she said, following him out into the hall. "And her secretary has my number."

"You know it isn't the same thing," the President said. "Come along."

"Yes, sir," she said.


End file.
